All of Your Everythings
by Nuwanda
Summary: Harry stares at Draco and contemplates the life of the blond boy, and also a possible life WITH the blond boy. Harry’s POV. Slash, HarryDraco. One-shot.


A/N:  Just something that came to me tonight as I listened to a tATu song…It inspired me to write this.  I hope you like it.  It's my first finished HP fic that I've written alone.  I like it a lot.  It's real angsty.  Leave reviews, I love reviews!

Summary:  Harry stares at a sleeping Draco and contemplates the life and the blond boy, and also a possible life _WITH_ the blond boy.  Harry's POV.  Slash, Harry/Draco.  One-shot.  

Disclaimer:  I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters, most specifically Harry, Draco, and Lucius, all three of whom I must admit I took many liberties with.  I do not own "Galaxy Quest" or "The Untouchables," both of which I took quotes from, both quotes being in quotation marks, so you'll know which ones they are.  They are not mine, nor do I claim them as mine.  I also do not own the phrase "you and all of your everythings."  It was created by my friend Assad, and I give him full credit here.  Thank you.  That is all.  Nuwanda, over and out.  

PS- Enjoy the fic.  ^__________^   

_How did we ever go this far?  
You touch my hand and start the car,   
and for the first time in my life, I'm crying  
Are we in space?_

_Do we belong some place where no one calls it wrong?  
  
_

_How did we ever go this far?  
You touch my hand and start the car,   
and for the first time in my life, I'm crying  
Are we in love?_

_Do we deserve to bear the shame of this whole world?  
And like the night we camouflage denial_

_~tATu_

            I look over at you and I can't help it:  It's been months and I _still_ feel butterflies in my stomach whenever I see your face.  You catch me looking at you and turn, smiling that smile of yours that only I see…that honest, beautifully pure, lovely smile.  You never let anyone else see that smile…it's for me, only me.  I don't deserve that, yet I willingly keep it greedily all to myself.  I don't want anyone else to have that smile.  I feel my blood burning like at thousand fires whenever I imagine you sharing that smile with anyone else.  I hate anyone that would try to steal you away from me.  And yet, they wouldn't try.  Because they don't know you as I do.  They don't see the pure soul that hides beneath years of built up resentment, layers of skin thickened against the insults which were tossed at you, the insults that battered that fragile porcelain skin of yours.  You have gone through so much, and that is why it _takes _so much for you to open up.  You don't open up, that's just the problem.  If you did, everyone would love you.  They would all be yours completely…as I am. 

            I still don't think I deserve this, no matter what you say.  I don't deserve _you_.  You tell me that that's bullshit, that you're worthless, you're nothing to be so happy over.  Those were your exact words:  "I'm nothing to be happy over."  You're wrong, Draco, and it saddens me that you don't know just how wrong you are, that you _can't _know.  You can't see yourself as worthwhile; after a lifetime of being treated like nothing, you started to believe that you really _are _nothing.  And that's just not true.  You are _something_. You _surpass_ something.  You are not just some ordinary, run of the mill person.  You are _extraordinary_.  You are w_onderful_.  You are absolutely _lovely._    

            You've corrupted me, you know.  Nothing in this world holds any beauty for me now…no beauty of its own, anyway.  I look at a stormy sky and see the icy gray of your eyes.  I'm doing worse than ever in Potions, because all I can do is watch you and the way you shine in your favorite subject, regard the triumphant gleam in your eye as you succeed at the class that no one can best you in, the smile on your face as you turn in another superbly perfect potion.  Even Quidditch is changed for me now.  The green of the Quidditch field only reminds me of your favorite color, of the way you look in that brilliant green sweater of yours…laid back, for once, away from the scolding of your mother and the violent temper of your father, away from rules and fancy dinners and shiny shoes and starched collars.  

I love you like this.  I love you always, of course, but I love nothing more than you in that sweater: sitting on the floor, your head propped against the arm of a chair, tilted back, eyes shut, hands folded across your stomach, your long gangly legs stretched out in front of you (your growth spurt has left you adorably awkward and I wonder when you'll grow into all that height).  Your legs rest deliberately across my own, which you did just to be a pest but which I enjoy more than you'll ever know.  I love to have you touch me, even when it's as impersonal as that.  I love holding you, feeling the worn spots on that sweater, clenching the soft wool between my fingers and tugging you closer to me, inhaling the scent of your cologne as I press a gentle kiss to your cheek.  You open your eyes then, a slight smile gracing your face, shaking your head slightly at me, at my hopeless romanticism.  I know I'm an overly idealistic dolt, but you love me for that, and I _love_ that you love me for it.  In you I have found a love that I never even dreamt of, and I have a very active imagination.  I am, as I have admitted, a hopeless romantic, and I have spent more time than I can count in imagining my true love, and yet, despite all those hours spent thinking about it, you are more than I ever dreamed of.  I didn't ever hope or expect to get a love as pure and true as this, and I _definitely_ don't believe that I deserve it.  You would surely tell me that I'm stupid for thinking so.  You think I deserve everything.  You'd give me the entire universe, if it was within your power.  You're so ridiculously stubborn.  You think you can do anything.  I think so, too.  I have never seen you fail at something when you have set your mind to it.  Sure, you fail at lots of things, but only because they're things you don't truly care about.  I _know_ you, Draco, probably better than you'd like to admit, and when you set your mind to something, you really set your heart on it, too, set your entire being on it.  When you want something, you don't give up for anything.  You really are a true Slytherin.  Not that you're evil…that's not part of being a Slytherin.  That's just an unfortunate stereotype which is often true…not about you, though.  No, you are a true Slytherin because, as the song said our first year, "those cunning folks use any means to achieve their end."  This is you.  I sometimes get the feeling that "never give up, never surrender" is your real motto for life.  Many people believe that one should "never stop fighting till the fight is done," but this phrase doesn't work for you.  No, for you, the phrase would be "never stop fighting, the fight is never done."  Because it's not, for you.  You're relentless.  And I love that about you, as well.  That stubborn look you get on your face.  Your chin sets, your eyes narrow and grow cold, you purse your lips just ever so slightly.  If I didn't know you as well as I do, that look would frighten me.  Instead, it just gives me more reason than ever to love you.

I wish I could tell you all of this.  I wish that I could speak plainly to you about how much I love you and why, tell you all the reasons you amaze me and what a wonderful person you are.  But you'd _hate_ that.  You would suddenly be unable to look me in the eye; your shoes would become very interesting.  You would scuff at the floor with one foot, the faintest pink blush appearing on your cheeks and across the brim of your nose.   Your voice would be very harsh as you told me to shut up, yet you would barely speak above a whisper.  I understand, Draco.  I understand that you're not ready for that.  You can't accept right now that you're a good person.  You have lived too much of your life being yelled at and insulted and hated…and beaten.  I have seen the scars you bear, Draco…pale lines tracing patterns across that alabaster skin.  I have seen what that…_beast_…has done to you…and I _hate_ him for it.  I can't describe in words all of the malice and anger I feel towards that devil that calls himself your father.  If I had my way, I would kill him right now.  His death would be long, slow, and more painful than anything Voldemort ever did to anyone.  I want to kill him for what he's done to you.  It's his fault completely that you can't accept that you are someone worthwhile.  It is his fault that you put on airs in front of people; you only do it because he has taught you that you're worthless.  If he hadn't done this, you would believe that people can like you for who you are.  Instead, you have raised such thick barriers against everyone that you feel that if you don't insult them first, the pain you feel when they turn on you will be too much to bear.  You don't want to open yourself up to hurt.  I know this, Draco, and it makes me want to kill that beast for all he's done to you.  I can't, though.  I'll never lay a finger on him, because I know that you wouldn't like me to do so.  Hate him or not, he _is _your father…and the bond between the two of you is still too strong.  You need to come to grips with the situation, first.  If I killed him now, or if someone else did it first, it would break you.  You would spend the rest of your life feeling guilty, though you did nothing wrong.  You would always try to live up to his expectations, always feeling as though he's watching you, working your hardest just to please him.  You would be constantly glancing over your shoulder, expecting to see him there, cane in hand and a malicious grin on his face, ready to beat you again for no good reason, just because he enjoys trying to make you cry.  

You don't cry.  You told me so.  You told me that you never cry when he beats you…that you stopped when you were four, when you realized that tears are just what he wants to see from you.  That now he only gets furious at your lack of response and beats you more, and harder.  You told me this as I walked you to the hospital wing, taking you to Madam Pomfrey so she could heal your nine broken ribs and the shiner and multiple other cuts and bruises.  "Cry," I told you, horrified at everything you had said.  "It's not worth it.  Let him see you cry and you can get yourself out of there faster."  You shook your head, refused my suggestion.  Your pride is strong, and you won't let him see you broken.  It worries me.  I'm worried that one day his anger will get the better of him.  One day, his temper will break beyond any point of control, and he will kill you.  I'm so _terrified_ of that happening.  Yet I can't do a thing about it.  I want him dead, but the price of your sanity isn't worth it.  He's not worth hurting you for.  You have to learn on your own, in time, that you _are _worthwhile, that you have people who love you.  And when you figure that out, you will be free of him.  And then I don't need to kill him, because he won't matter one iota.  Then, you will be free.  Then, you will be able to stand on your own.  Then, it will be just you and me.  Together.  You.  Me.  Us.  Together.  It has a nice sound to it, doesn't it?  Together.  Forever.  Together forever.  I can't wait for that to happen.  Forever is a very long time, and I can't wait to spend all of it with you.  

Do you think about it, Draco?  Do you think about spending eternity with me?  I certainly hope so.  Because I don't think I can exist without you.  I love to lie beside you when you sleep, to place my palm flat on your chest, to feel your heartbeat beneath my fingers.  I cherish every moment spent with you.  I lock every memory away in my mind, afraid that you will someday decide that you like your life better without me.  I won't be able to bear it if that happens.  I will have nothing but my memories to live on, and though I said that my imagination is very vivid, I prefer reality.  Reality with no one else but you.  But I won't push you, Draco.  I won't force you to give me an answer.  As much as I would like to be sure that I have a future with you, that we have a future together, I am content for the time being to concentrate all of my attention to the life that is happening right now, to the life we are currently sharing.  And if I lose you, I hope you will never forget how _special_ you are to me.  How special you are in general.  You are a beautiful person, Draco, inside and out, and I hope you someday learn that.  

I have planned a very well laid out future life for myself.  I hope you want to be part of it, because I have thought about you often, and a big part of it goes to you.  I want you in that life.  I want you there, both of us older, both of us nicer and wiser and _happier_.  I want to be there when the realization hits you that you're a wonderful person, that your father doesn't matter, that life goes on without him.  I want to be there when the realization hits you, and I want to be there to catch you when it does.  I want to be with you after this, to live with you when you can let these burdens go and feel light and free and simply live how you want to live, love as you want to love, enjoy everything around you for what it is and not give a_ damn_ what people think of you for doing this.  I want to be with you for the rest of your life, to wake up each morning to you and all of your everythings.  I love you, Draco…and, for what it's worth, I always will.  Though you never may believe it, it's true, and always will be.  I love you, Draco, and I can say it till I'm blue in the face, and then some.  I can say it until you're sick and tired of it, and possibly of me.  I can say it until you finally give in and admit that you know it, that you're worth it.  I love you, Draco.  I love you, I love you, I love you…..

…….never forget it.       


End file.
